When Peter met Wendy
by SquirrelOfDoom
Summary: Basically,a different version of how Wendy got to Neverland.The first chapter is lame beyond all reason. But bear with me.It may get extremely fluffy once I get going...can't decide if I'm going to or not. I tried to make it funny...really I did!
1. The Beginning

**Note: **Obviously I don't own _any_ of the Peter Pan characters...trust me, if I did, Wendy would be replaced by me :)

A murky combination of mist and fog swirled in the cold London air one November evening, the ice-cold light of the stars hidden by stormy clouds. All was quiet, except for the occasional rattling of a carriage as it was pulled along over the frozen cobblestones. Suddenly, a round ball of light could be seen flitting around several chimneys and lampposts, dodging trees and bushes, then finally swooping down towards a particular rooftop.

The light hovered a few feet above a softly lit window, darting about as though waiting for something. Abruptly, the tiny glowing sphere froze, and an unusually warm breeze blew through the streets of London, followed by a dark shadow. This shadow, more graceful and acrobatic than the darting light, also hovered by the window. Whirling around the dark shadow, the light emitted what sounded like several tiny bells being smashed together, obviously disapproving of what the shadow was doing. Ignoring the sparkling light ball, the shadow drew closer to the lit window.

If anyone had been inside the room at the time, they would certainly have been immensely startled to see the shadow, now finally illuminated by the light, in the form of a young boy of about eleven years old. Peter Pan. The legendary boy who never grew up; raised by fairies in a far off land created by dreams. Clothed only in lush green leaves from his navel down to his shins, one wondered how he could survive the harsh London winter. Wide, gray-blue eyes stared in fascination at the empty room, his blond hair curled loosely and hung in his eyes. He pressed one grubby hand against the glass, as if longing to be inside. Without warning, the glowing light lunged forward and seized a lock of the young boy's hair, then tugged sharply. The boy casually reached around and snatched the light out of the air and held it firmly in his fist.

Now that the light was still for the first time, it was revealed to be a tiny woman, clothed in some sort of colorful flower, and the same leaves as the boy's trousers. Her long red hair was tied up in a messy bun, and her brown eyes burned with a surprising rage. Huge, translucent wings, like that of a butterfly, were attached to her shoulder blades. A torrent of musical, bell-like sounds were heard coming from the delicate fairy's mouth, her eyes still burning with anger.

"Stupid boy!" raged the fairy in her native tongue (for that was what she was speaking; the fairy language). "You have tried to come before, and we found the window shut! Let us leave this dreadful, cold place."

Peter turned his blond head and stared at the fairy in his grip, his beautiful eyes fierce.

"No, Tink. I will not leave!" he whispered furiously, turning back to the empty room. "I must stay until I see her."

Tinkerbell's temper softened almost instantly, for she could never be angry with the boy for long. "She has gone," the fairy said gently, placing one tiny hand on the boy's fist. "I have come here without you before; another family is coming now."

"My mother would not leave!" Peter whispered again, though the fairy could tell his confidence was fading rapidly. Muttering to himself, Peter unexpectedly thwacked his head against the glass, startling the fairy in his fist. "She wouldn't, "he mumbled, his nose pressed again the cold glass. "She just…wouldn't."

These jumbled sentences dwindled into silence, and Tinkerbell relaxed, becoming absorbed in her own thoughts of mothers.

A loud thumping noise suddenly jerked the two out of their separate thoughts, and causing the boy to release Tinkerbell as they flew up towards the safety of an icicle-laden tree.

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"George! Oh, George dear, come look at the nursery! It's absolutely lovely…" A young mother swept into the empty room, twirling about in delight as she gazed at the empty fireplace and bright, patterned wallpaper. Her name was Mary Darling, and she was slender and rosy-cheeked, with warm brown eyes and a caring nature.

"I'm coming, Mary, coming…" Staggering thru the doorway and carrying a heavy box came a man by the named of George Darling. He was a stern, but gentle man in his thirties; a man who liked to know his place in the world. Panting, he set down his load, then moved over to where his wife stood and kissed her cheek lightly. "Lovely indeed, and quite a bargain…"the man called George said, eyeing the huge window apprehensively. "Shouldn't that thing have a lock?"

"Oh, the window? Of course not! Think of it…when summer comes round we can open that window to let in a nice breeze, and that tree out there will be covered in green. It will be so wonderful!" Mary said, crossing over to the window to peer out into the frosty night. George sighed and turned towards the door.

"Liza! Liza, bring the children up to see their room…" George called downstairs to their faithful (and only) servant. Liza obeyed, and the next minute, the sounds of two pairs of feet racing up the stairs could be heard. A small girl and an even smaller boy entered, both of them immediately began to race about the room, exploring every corner. A few seconds later, the maid entered with a third child in her arms, fast asleep. Liza handed the slumbering child to Mary, who kissed his forehead tenderly and began to rock him gently, humming.

"Wendy, John, behave or you'll wake Michael up," George Darling commanded sternly.

Both children obediently ceased their exploration and went to stand by their father's side, though their eyes continued to wander about the room.

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Peter floated cautiously towards the window, trying hard not to breath too loudly. He stared at the family with a mixture of curiosity and intense jealousy, his beautiful eyes alight with a sort of tortured anguish. Then, he spotted the girl, and felt the most unusual fluttering sensation in his stomach; he flew higher above the window, touching his finger cautiously to his stomach, as though afraid it would burst. Nothing happened, so he floated back down towards the window to peer at the Wendy girl again. As soon as he caught sight of her, twirling happily, her bronze hair catching the light in the most attractive way, the fluttering sensation came again. Confused and slightly fearful of the Wendy's effect on him, he flew high into the stars, determined to forget all that he had seen.

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Wendy Moira Angela Darling was a thin, blue-eyed girl of ten. She had an intense curiosity, a trait that was forced to be subdued, but would get her into a great deal of trouble in the future. John Rupert Darling was a thin boy of seven, with shaggy brown hair and a logical disposition. Though his sister was older, it was he who often rescued her when her curiosity got her into a situation she shouldn't have been in. And Michael James Darling, being only two years old, didn't have much of a personality yet.

All in all, they were a fairly content family. The children got along well, the parents never quarreled, and almost all of them were satisfied with their daily lives. _Almost _all of them. As I have said before, Wendy had an intense curiosity. And someday, in the future, it would bring her the most exciting adventure beyond anything in her wildest dreams.

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**Editor's note**: I know, possibly the lamest of all lame story beginnings. But it gets better, I swear! I try to inject some humor into my stories, but it's a little hard to be randomly funny when you're trying to write in J.M. Barrie style...so I think Peter is going to have to be my outlet for random, hilarious moments...:)

Reviews and critiques are EXTREMELY WELCOME! In fact, you'll get a cookie!

Well...no, there's really no cookie in it for you...but you'll have my gratitude! And that's almost as good as a cookie!

* * *


	2. Story Time

Years passed in the Darling household; children grew, a dog was acquired, and Mr. Darling got a raise at the bank where he worked. Four years had gone by since the time the Darlings had moved in to Pan's old home; Wendy was now a lovely girl of fourteen, her eleven-year-old brother, John, was as thin as ever, and Michael was six years old.

Little Michael had developed a fondness for playing make-believe with his siblings, and that was what he was occupied with on the evening on which our story really begins. Michael had just convinced John to play with him, and was pleading with Wendy for her to come and tell them a story. Wendy refused, saying how she had a lot of needlework to do, and then she had to darn the boys' socks. Michael was not one to be said 'no' to, so he persisted in his begging until she finally agreed, though she was secretly glad to have an excuse to interrupt her sewing.

"All right, boys, what story would you like?" Wendy said, laying a half-embroidered kerchief in her sewing basket and settling back in the nursery's rocking chair.

"Tell one about Peter Pan, Wendy!. Those are my favorites," Michael said eagerly, running over to his toy chest to retrieve a wooden sword.

"The first Peter Pan story. Of how the Neverland came to be," John added, tying a worn blue bandanna around his head and carefully adjusting an eye patch over his glasses.

"'Of how it came to be?'" asked Michael, he having never heard this story before.

"Of course, Michael dear. Peter Pan helped to create it, you know," answered Wendy matter-of-factly, smoothing out her nightdress.

"Oh. Tell us that one, then," said Michael, tossing away the sword and instead smearing finger paint across his cheeks and sticking a feather in his hair.

Wendy leaned back thoughtfully, a vivid dream flashing briefly through her mind. A dream of beautiful islands and strange creatures….and the loveliest pair of eyes she had ever seen…

She sighed deeply, then began her tale in her best storytelling voice:

"_Long ago, there was a boy who refused to do the one thing every child must do; grow up."_

"Oh, I wish I could be like Peter!" Michael exclaimed randomly, wistfully playing with the feather in his hair.

"Michael, hush! Don't interrupt the story," John hissed, dealing a swift blow to his brother's arm.

Wendy silenced them with a fierce, motherly look (the kind that made even the strongest men quiver under its ferocity) and continued with her story.

"_This boy's name was Peter Pan, and one night, while out for a stroll in Kensington Gardens, he fell out of his pram while his nurse was looking the other way. With the aide of the fairies, he flew away to a beautiful, faraway place called Neverland."_

"But, Wendy," Michael spoke up, narrowly avoiding his older brother's admonishing hand, "I thought you said this was the story that told how the Neverland came to be."

Wendy gritted her teeth, but managed to keep her features perfectly calm.

"Michael," she said patiently, folding her hands in her lap. "Do you want to hear this story or not?"

"Yes, ma'am," the youngest of the Darling children replied meekly.

"That's what I thought……"

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Meanwhile..

Far away, above the gigantic mountains of Wishful Thinking, past the point of Noregret, and over the Four Points Sea, trouble was brewing in Neverland. Peter Pan was growing.

Growing taller, that is. No one knew exactly when it had started, or why, but Peter was so desperate for his growth spurt to remain hidden from the others that he went to great lengths to hide it. Like making the doorways higher, for example.

Peter hacked away determinedly at the doorway to his bedroom, the steel of his sword causing rather large (and noticeable) gouges in the wood of the tree. After about ten minutes of strenuous activity, Peter was immensely tired and dripping with sweat.

"It's no use, Tink," he said to his infamously jealous fairy companion. "The Lost Boys are bound to notice this….unless…"

Peter bounded inside his room and swiped one of the numerous furs off his bed, then, removing a few particularly fat thorns from a vine that twisted around the edges of the underground home's ceiling, he used the thorns to tack up the fur over his bedroom doorway. Stepping back to admire his handiwork, Peter crowed loudly, pleased with his own ingenuity.

"What's going on, Peter?"

Pan jumped as the unexpected voice of his first mate, Slightly, sounded from behind him.

"Oh, ah…nothing! Just…uh…practicing!" Peter said quickly, spinning around in time to see the other Lost Boys come shooting out of their various entryways. Regaining his composure, he stood, feet apart, hands on hips in his classic pose. "Line up, men!" he barked.

Obediently, the boys snapped to attention, theirs eyes staring blankly ahead as their captain stood in front of them.

"Did you catch anything?" Peter asked, his growth spurt causing him to tower over the smaller boys. While the other Lost Boys seemed to be around the ages of ten or eleven, Peter seemed to have grown into a strapping boy of fifteen. Vines crossed over his broad, tanned shoulders, and he still wore those same trousers made of leaves. The younger boys, however, all wore various exotic animal furs, with homemade weapons slung across their backs.

"Yes, captain. It was a good hunt today," said Slightly, motioning for the other boys to hold out their prizes.

Due to the fact that Peter absolutely _forbid _the boys to actually kill any animal, all of the 'prizes' were imaginary. Each Lost Boy held out a handful of air, and Peter bent over, carefully inspecting them.

"Well done," Peter said, pleased. His blue-gray eyes swept around the underground home, trying to find something else to distract the Lost Boys.

"Men," he began, turning his back on them, "go down to the Indian village and trade some of those seashells you found for more animal skins. I am going to…."

Peter racked his brain, hoping to find a reason to leave them. His eyes brightened.

"I am going to fly down to the Jolly Roger and see what Hook is up to," Peter lied, swiftly motioning to Tinkerbell to join him by his side. "I've heard there's a new pirate aboard, and I must see if he is worth killing."

The Lost Boys saluted smartly as Peter flew out through the main entryway, his fairy following close behind.

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Peter Pan soared high over his island home, his eyes roving over the pirate ship, the Mermaid's Lagoon, and the redskin village. Tinkerbell fluttered by his shoulder, tinkling her curiosity as to what he was doing. He sighed, rolling onto his back as he floated above the lush green of the jungle.

Peter had wondered for the longest time why he was growing. He had become slightly obsessed, thinking over every possible reason as to what was causing his change. Yet a small, nagging voice in the back of his mind had been screaming the reason at him for years, and now that Peter was finally listening to that incredibly annoying little voice, he knew. It was that girl. He had forgotten her name long ago, but he could never forget her face. Her bright blue eyes were still fresh in his memory, and Peter was, oddly enough, frightened.

How could this seemingly useless girl have such a powerful effect on him? He had seen many Indian girls in his endless youth, and he had even seen a few on that rare occasion when he left the Neverland and traveled to other worlds. Yet no girl had captured his attention like the one he had seen moving into his former home.

In that instant, Peter Pan knew what he had to do. He flipped over rapidly, tossing Tinkerbell off his chest, where she had been resting.

"Tink," he announced, turning away from his precious Neverland. "We're going to London."

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**Author's Note: **What is it about Peter Pan that makes us rabid fan girls love him so? Is it his eternal youth? His skill with a sword? Or is it because Jeremy Sumpter is _undeniably_ adorable? We may never know :)

A HUGE thank you to my reviewers…sorry, but you still don't get a cookie. :) I also apologize for the wait….I didn't have access to a computer for three days! Please don't bite my head off; I'll try to update this story faster!


	3. A Fateful Night

**A/N**: Tis getting' rather fluffy now….:)

Wendy listened to the rhythmic breathing of her brothers (and the snoring of Nana) as she darned a sock by firelight. An ancient grandfather clock ticked gently as Wendy worked, the fire glimmering more and more dimly as time wore on. Finally, when the fire had finally died down to a few glowing embers, Wendy rose from the rocking chair, drifting towards the frost-covered window. Brushing aside the lace curtain, Wendy stared out into the icy night, her breath steaming the glass of the window. A full moon, huge and creamy white, hung among the glittering stars. A smile flitted across Wendy's features; she felt oddly calm, more so than usual. What she didn't realize was that soon her entire world would be changed in just this one night.

Ah well. They say ignorance is bliss, and perhaps it was true. If Wendy had known what would occur on that particular evening, she might have found some excuse to leave the house. Or maybe she would have stayed, eagerly awaiting what was to come. We will, most likely, never know.

Wendy crossed the room to her bed, pulling back her huge feather blanket and slipping between the sheets. She let out a soft sigh of contentment, then snuggled against her pillow as she slowly drifted off to sleep.

It is said that the Neverland was created by dreams, and the place where every child's imagination lives. Yet tonight, instead of Wendy's mind flying off to Neverland, the Neverland was (literally) flying to her.

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Peter drifted towards the window, a slight fear causing him to hesitate, the tips of his fingers straying across the glass of the window. Tinkerbell darted around his head, tugging at his blond curls and pinching the skin of his arms in a desperate attempt to lead him back home to Neverland. Peter brushed her aside, breathing deeply, his cocky attitude returning almost instantly. Latching his fingers beneath the edge of the window, Peter slid it open noiselessly and drifted inside.

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Wendy stirred slightly as she felt an icy breeze chill her body through her thick blankets, as though a window had been opened to let in the winter night. Almost instantly, a clean, earthy smell filled Wendy's nose, and a much warmer breath of air brushed her cheek gently. Suddenly, loud, raucous barks could be heard, echoing loudly throughout the entire house, causing Wendy to sit up rather suddenly, her head colliding with something hard.

Not pausing to think about what she had hit, Wendy raced from her bed to Nana's kennel, hoping to silence the dog before it's barking woke her brothers.

"Hush, Nana,_ hush_!" Wendy pleaded in a whisper, frantically stroking the burly Newfoundland's head in an effort to comfort her.

Nana, however, refused to hush. There was something amiss in the room, and the dog-turned-nursery maid felt it was her duty to protect the children, no matter the cost.

Which is a noble trait, true enough, but sometimes rather irritating. This night was one of those times. Wendy, using all of her strength, lugged the madly barking dog out of the room, while at the same time still attempting to stay silent, so as to not wake her siblings.

Panting, Wendy finally managed to push the dog outside of the nursery, firmly shutting the door behind her. She pressed her back against the wall, holding her breath as she listened to the sounds of her younger brothers' gentle breathing. Satisfied that they were still asleep, Wendy crept noiselessly across the room and collapsed onto her bed, already exhausted.

Trouble was, there was already someone in it.

Wendy, too startled to scream, felt a hand clap around her mouth.

"Don't scream," a voice breathed, right next to her ear. "I won't hurt you." The hand lifted off her mouth, and Wendy felt someone shift behind her, moving around her so that the figure was now sitting (as far as Wendy could tell) in front of her on the bed.

"Who…who are you?" Wendy whispered, still frightened despite the stranger's word that he would not hurt her. She reached out tentatively in the darkness, but felt only warm skin beneath her fingertips. Very aware of the impropriety of the situation, Wendy snatched her hand back with a soft gasp of surprise. "Would it…be all right if I lit the lamps?" Wendy asked, rather lamely, desperate for an excuse to get away from the bed.

A quiet laugh answered her question, and the oldest Darling child slid off the bed rapidly, hurrying towards the wall. Holding her arms out in front of her in an attempt to make sure she didn't crash into anything, Wendy slid her hands up the wall until she found the lamplight. Taking a deep breath, she turned the little knob until the flame brightened and lit the room. Wendy turned slowly, curious and frightened as to what she was about to see.

When her eyes finally rested on the figure of Peter Pan, she fell back against the wall, her heart racing madly. A boy was sitting, quite calmly, on her _bed._ A _boy._ A tanned, well-muscled, scantily-clothed boy. Wendy found that she was having the hardest time breathing, and as she struggled to control her heartbeat, something occurred to her.

Here she was, standing in front of this boy, in her _nightdress_. Wendy blushed a deep rose color as she fumbled for her robe, frantically searching through her chest of drawers.

Peter watched this display with interest, propping his elbow against his bent knee and letting his head rest in his hand while one foot dangled off the end of Wendy's bed. The girl had changed since the last time Peter had seen her last. Her chestnut brown hair had grown longer and silkier, her movements more graceful, her thin frame now curved. But it was not just her physical appearance that intrigued him; it was her awkward shyness, the way her proper manners seemed to unravel with just a look from Peter. He chuckled lightly as Wendy finally retrieved her robe, knotting the sash around her waist with more vigor than needed.

"Who are you?" Wendy asked hesitantly, though she was sure she already knew.

"Peter Pan," the boy said, confirming her suspicions. "And who are you?"

"Wendy Moira Angela Darling," said Wendy, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu as she said her name. She stepped forward once and curtsied lightly; Wendy was not one to forget her manners, even in the strangest of situations.

Peter slid off the bed and bowed formally. He too, knew some manners, having attended many fairy balls in Neverland. He took a careful step towards her, as though afraid he might startle her if he made any sudden movements. Wendy's face was upturned towards his, her expression innocent, though her blue eyes stared at him with the intensity of a falcon.

"I've seen you once before," Peter said slowly, one curious finger reaching out to gently touch her cheek. Wendy's eyes widened noticeably, and Peter fought back a smile.

"You…you have?" Wendy squeaked, her heart hammering madly against her ribcage as Peter stepped closer. He smelled wonderful, much like rain on a spring day, earthy and clean. His breath fanned out gently onto her cheeks, his blue-gray eyes locked on her face.

"Yes," Peter murmured, his eyes gaining a distant look as he remembered things from his past; some pleasant, others as dark as any nightmare. Peter turned his attention back to Wendy's face, smiling somewhat bitterly. "This used to be my home."

Startled, Wendy reeled back, her mouth hung open in unladylike shock.

"Oh, Peter," she breathed, her motherly instincts suffocating all other thoughts as she reached out to console him.

Jerking his arm away, Peter floated up suddenly towards the ceiling, a careful expression of indifference masking his true feelings.

"You've changed the wallpaper," he said wryly, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He glided towards the wall and lowered his feet until they were parallel to the floor, his fingers brushing the flower-adorned paper almost tenderly.

Wendy fingered the sash tied around her waist, glancing at Peter occasionally, who eventually returned to the ground to examine a dollhouse. Wendy had just mustered up enough courage to ask Peter about his former life, when she turned and found herself almost nose-to-nose with him.

"You've changed too," he said softly, taking a dark strand of her hair and playing with it between his fingers, his close presence making it difficult for Wendy to think clearly.

"Well…y-yes," Wendy stammered, her cheeks reddening with each passing second as Peter inched even closer. She struggled to string a few words together as Peter, very gently, rested his hand on the back of her neck, bringing her face closer to his. He had gotten so close now that his soft lips brushed hers, with Wendy breathing in his sweet scent.

Out of nowhere, a loud, rasping snore came from John's bed, followed by an even louder thump. Peter shot into the air, fluidly unsheathing the sword from his back in one movement. Wendy, thinking quickly, managed to get a hold on Peter's foot while at the same time yanking him down, then ran to where her brother lay (now on the floor) sleeping. She whirled around so that her back was to her brother, her hands outstretched to ward off Peter's sword.

"Peter!" she hissed, waving her arms in a rather ridiculous manner to distract him. "It's just my brother, John!" Afraid he would still try to attack, Wendy planted her feet apart, her hands on her hips, looking remarkably like Peter in his favorite pose.

Peter, hiding a grin at Wendy's fierce stance, lowered himself to the ground and carefully sheathed his sword.

"All right, all right. I wasn't going to hurt him," said Peter, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly as Wendy snorted disbelievingly. He rose into the air and drifted over to where she stood, coming nose-to-nose with her, his blue-gray eyes unblinking as they stared into Wendy's.

"I was only trying to protect _you,_" he whispered, so close that his lips moved against Wendy's as he spoke. Peter slid his hand behind her head once more, this time pressing his lips to Wendy's before anything (or anyone) could interrupt.

Wendy Moira Angela Darling had been taught many fine things at various fine schools throughout her childhood. She had become quite fluent in French as well as Latin; she was learning to play the piano; and every single evening she was educated in the ways of living in a proper English society, so that she could grow up to be a proper young lady. But there had been nothing in any textbook, or taught by any schoolteacher, that could explain to her the feelings she was experiencing right at that moment.

Wendy entangled her fingers in his curly hair, her free arm snaking around his muscular shoulders to pull him closer to her, as she felt him slip his own arm around her waist and hold her tightly against his chest. A sort of invisible electricity seemed to surge through her body as Wendy focused on nothing but the touch of Peter's skin against hers; on how eagerly he seemed to hold her body against his own. She broke away from Peter's kiss for a second (she did need to breath, after all), but he quickly closed the gap again with possibly even more enthusiasm than before.

A sudden, sharp, pain tugged viciously at Wendy's hair, but since her lips were still practically super glued to Peter's, she could only let out a moan to indicate what had happened.

Peter seemed to think that her cry of pain was one of enjoyment, and he began to slowly slide his hand down her back, only to be interrupted by a blindingly bright light that (somehow) forced itself between his body and Wendy's.

A loud, extremely angry clashing of bells could be heard as Tinkerbell whizzed about Peter's head, chittering like an angry squirrel. The temperamental pixie shot towards Wendy's forehead, as though attempting to dive-bomb her. Peter managed to snatch her out of the air just in time; though Tinkerbell still managed to give Wendy a tiny, fairy fist-shaped bruise on her forehead.

"Tink, stop it!" Peter said fiercely, holding the fairy up to eye level while Wendy hurried to her mirror to asses the damage.

Her new bruise was rapidly purpling, and Wendy's ringlets had become a little tangled from her first encounter with Tinkerbell. She untied the ribbon holding her hair and quickly combed all the tangles smooth. Leaning closer to examine her bruise, Wendy secretly wondered why Tinkerbell had not separated them sooner.

Actually, Tinkerbell had been rather occupied with several shiny objects that she found while raiding Wendy's jewelry boxes. As soon as she and Peter had flown through the nursery window, Tink had immediately lost interest in the sleeping, snoring humans, and had flown rather aimlessly about until she crossed over an ornate hand mirror that was laying on a short table near the rocking chair. She had examined herself for several minutes before again becoming distracted by a pearl necklace that had been carelessly stuffed into a gilded box on Wendy's dresser. One thing had led to another, and soon the fairy had been touching and scrutinizing every jewel and shiny bit of metal she could find.

Unfortunately, Tinkerbell became rather bored with staring at the little silver buttons on the coats hanging in the nursery's closet, so she had decided to see why Peter had wanted to come back to the smoky, gritty city that was London. That's when she saw it; that awful lump of a girl getting very, very, _very_ close to _her_ Peter Pan. So Tinkerbell took action, unfortunately for Wendy. The enraged pixie had launched herself across the room to the back of Wendy's head, where she had then proceeded to pull her hair until Peter had stopped her.

So now Pan's fairy companion was clenched in the boy's fist, being angrily told to fly home immediately. Tinkerbell, however, had other plans.

"Stupid boy!" Tink raged, pounding her tiny fairy fists against Peter's fingers and straining to get out of his fierce grip. "Let me go! Great slow-witted cow with hair like mud, you will not come near him again!" she fumed, directing her last remark towards Wendy, though the Darling child heard only an angry chorus of tiny bells emanating from Tink's mouth.

"Tinkerbell!" Peter said furiously, holding the fairy up to his face so she could see the anger burning in his stormy eyes. "You will not speak to her that way! Go, return to the Neverland, before I change my mind and _banish_ you to the human world!"

With that last stinging remark, Peter flung Tinkerbell away, who then took off out the window into the stars. Wendy returned to Peter's side, tentatively reaching out to brush his forearm with her fingertips.

"Oh, Peter, you won't _really_ banish her, will you? That would be a bit too severe, don't you think? I'm sure she didn't mean it -"

Peter snorted, turning to look at Wendy, his temper rapidly deflating in her presence.

"Wendy, you don't know Tinkerbell as well as I do. She's awfully jealous…though you're the first I've seen her act…well, _aggressive _towards," said Peter, smiling crookedly at Wendy. "She must think you're special."

The eldest Darling child shook her head in disbelief.

"Are all the fairies in Neverland like her?" asked Wendy, looking thoughtfully towards the window.

"No. Tinkerbell is….unique. I've never heard of any fairy bonding to someone the way she has to me," Peter said musingly, running a hand through his tangled blond curls. "I think she feels she needs to protect me."

Wendy nodded like she thought he was right, but Peter had talked enough about her that Wendy knew how Tinkerbell really felt. Right away, she regretted her rash actions.

And that's when it really hit her.

She had kissed Peter Pan. _Peter Pan. _A boy who lived in a fantasy world; one who fought pirates and wild beasts, one who never grew old. Wendy tugged at her robe furtively, hurrying past Peter towards her bed. She sat down on her quilted covers, not looking at Peter and trying very hard to ignore him as he sat down next to her.

"Wendy…what's wrong?" Peter asked, concerned at her sudden formality.

Wendy stiffened as his fingertips brushed her arm gently.

"Peter, this is all so…._improper._ You shouldn't be in here! I'm a girl!"

Peter stared at her in confusion.

"Wendy," he said slowly, as though talking to someone rather dense, "I _know _you're a girl. It's not that hard to -"

"You don't understand! You _must_ leave. Forget me, fly back to Neverland. Oh, if my parents find out…if _anyone_ finds out-"

Her rant was abruptly interrupted as Peter pressed his lips against hers gently; Wendy's breath catching in her chest. A second later he broke away, staring into her eyes.

"I don't think _you_ understand, Wendy Moira Angela Darling," he whispered, his expression tender as he stroked her cheek. "I could never forget you."

Wendy's thoughts were wonderfully jumbled as she stared into his gorgeous eyes, her heart jumping about erratically, each part of her he touched tingling with electricity.

"Oh, Peter," she said softly. "It's just so hard. I am required to be proper, well-mannered, every single second of every day. Sometimes I wish I could just…" Her words faded as she became absorbed in her thoughts.

Peter had started to lean in again, when his gray-blue eyes suddenly lit up deviously. A plan was forming in his cunning mind. He stood up and sauntered towards the middle of the nursery, grinning to himself as he glanced back towards the melancholy Wendy.

"It must be awfully demanding," Peter said innocently, "growing up."

She nodded absently, rising from the bed to wander towards the rocking chair.

"You know, you wouldn't have to be proper in Neverland. I am its king, and I refuse to be proper. As you already know," Peter grinned, leaning against the wall, his expression cocky.

Wendy froze at the mention of Neverland. She knew what he was getting at; but at the same time, Wendy couldn't help but feel curious about the exotic island. She sat on the edge of the rocking chair's hard seat, pretending to still be wrapped up in her own thoughts. Peter appeared suddenly before her, beaming a smile that no woman had ever been able to resist.

"There are mermaids, Wendy. Beautiful flowers; strange creatures and fairies. Fantastic parties with the Indians and fairy balls," Peter whispered, leaning close to her.

Peter had always known he seemed to have some sort of effect on females; a cocky charm they couldn't resist; a wide, playful smile that melted a girl's heart. Girls at the Indian village swooned over him constantly, and even the squaws with their papooses seemed rather fond of the Pan. So even as Wendy turned her face away, he knew it was only a matter of time before she was eating out of the palm of his hand.

Even though he didn't know it yet, Wendy had already fallen for his plan. In her heart, she was already flying away through the stars as Peter Pan led her to an island of dreams. Her brain, however, was putting up a better fight.

"Peter," she said, her thoughts already muddled by his earthy scent. "I can't. What about my brothers, and my parents. I couldn't leave them for so long."

The eternally youthful boy leaned forward even more, his warm breath fanning out against Wendy's face.

"Time passes differently in the Neverland, Wendy," he breathed. "What a month is there could be only an hour here."

Wendy rose from the rocking chair as Peter flew towards the window, planting himself in front of it; feet apart, hands on hips, his cocky smile even wider now.

"Come with me, Wendy. Come to the Neverland."

Wendy turned to look around the cluttered nursery, her brothers still (remarkably) sound asleep as she tried to find another reason to stay. Peter, sensing her hesitation, soared suddenly across the room to land in front of Wendy, placing both hands on each side of her face as he kissed her eagerly.

Convinced entirely, Wendy smiled and took his hand, and the two of them soared out of the nursery window into the midnight sky.

-----------------------------

**Author's Note: **Caaaaan you feeeeeeel, the looooove toniiight???

Cause I sure can! There's so much of it, the Wendy/Peter love is coming out of my ears.

Tried to make a nice long chapter this time, since my other two were rather short. Ahhhhh yeah, Peter is massively adorable. -glomps him-

Oh, just so you know, Wendy's little déjà vu bit is just because I figured she must have said her full name in nearly _every_ fan fiction involving her, and I thought she would've had déjà vu about it. It doesn't mean anything, it's just an odd, random little theory I had :)

REVIEW!! And I'll….do the crazy llama dance. Yay for da crazy llama dance!


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